Melusine was loath to admit how much more lonely since Gerald chose not to visit her. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. She walked through the walls. But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for. ‘Even the nuns they say I am like a devil. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him.
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